No 2 Ways About Dick Williams

June 25, 1987|By Jerome Holtzman.

As far as I know, nobody has determined the precise approach that helps make for the ideal major-league baseball manager. There are different styles. Tom Lasorda of the Los Angeles Dodgers and Chuck Tanner of the Atlanta Braves are the co-chairmen of the ``gee whiz`` school and lead the league in hugging their players. They are veritable mother hens, encouraging their men with soft words and optimistic and therapeutic chatter: ``Don`t worry, son, we`ll get

`em tomorrow.``

Dick Williams, a crisp-talking brigadier, complete with the iron-gray brush mustache, sits at the other end and barks ``These are the rules: spit-shine, hit the cutoff man and don`t ever, ever miss a sign.`` The hugs only come during the champagne celebration after the clinching of a divisional title or a pennant or the winning of a World Series.

``I`ll stand up for my results,`` Williams said.

He was in the visitors` clubhouse at Comiskey Park, in his white jockey shorts and bare feet, preparing and waiting for another evening`s combat with the White Sox.

``It`d be great to take over a pennant winner, when you know the next season you`re going to win 90-95 games,`` Williams said. ``It`s a lot different than taking a club in last place, or next to last. Or a club that loses 107 games and wins 95 three years later.``

Dick Williams, of course, has done just that. Of all the active big-league managers, he is the reigning master of rebuilding a seemingly hopeless team into a contender. The Boston Red Sox, the Oakland A`s and the San Diego Padres won championships under his direction. The Seattle Mariners are his current assignment. Seventh and last last year, they currently are tied for third in the American League West.

And without any apparent rah-rah or the supposed benefits of managerial palship.

``I don`t baby my players,`` Williams conceded. ``They`re not kids. They`re young men. They don`t give a damn about me, and I don`t care about them. All I want them to do is play hard. Give me 100 percent, be on time and don`t make any stupid mistakes.

``Nothing you can do about physical mistakes. Everybody lives with those. Errors are part of the game. Strikeouts? I struck out once myself.``

Williams laughed, aware of the exaggeration.

In an undistinguished 14-year big-league playing career, he struck out 392 times in 2,959 at-bats, a ratio of one K for every 7 1/2 at-bats, excellent considering he was a .260 spray hitter and often overpowered by fastballs. None the less, he is remembered as the consummate alert hustler, who played with fire and brimstone.

Young managers typically attempt a buddy-buddy relationship with their players, but the gap almost always widens with the years. Williams never went this route. From the beginning, he was the boss, a realistic militant who neither curried favor with his players nor seemed to be concerned with their friendship.

I mentioned to him that when a manager is fired, the scenario invariably is the same. The players, including those who, for whatever reasons, didn`t give the total effort required, always express sympathy: ``Gee, that`s too bad. He was such a nice guy.``

``I did when money meant something,`` he replied. ``Today, if you fine a player a couple of hundred dollars, even a thousand dollars, it doesn`t do anything. They laugh at you. The only thing you can do is don`t put `em in the lineup.``

Williams conceded that his Mariners are playing hard.

``I`m very satisfied. We have to do little things to be successfull

--steal, hit-and-run, bunt. I`m very well pleased.``

As he often does, Williams asked about Charlie Finley, his onetime boss with the Oakland A`s. Williams, in three seasons with Finley, had a near-perfect record: three divisional titles and two world championships.

``Charlie was all right,`` Williams said. ``He assembled the best talent I`ve ever been associated with. His mind is always at work. He`s a lot more genius than idiot.``

Only several weeks ago, Williams received a packet of old photographs from Finley.

``He was cleaning out his desk,`` Williams said. ``He sent these pictures and on the bottom he wrote: `Thanks for everything. Sincerely, Charlie Finley.`